


Burn the Night

by maehie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Firewatch inspired AU but with more cryptids, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Okami Hanzo Shimada, Reyes is McCree's dad (basically), Werewolf Jesse McCree, a lil bit of summer lovin and a lil bit of summer mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maehie/pseuds/maehie
Summary: Jesse McCree takes a job as a summer fire outlook to clear his thoughts and escape from society. His plans go completely awry when he meets one Hanzo Shimada.(Or, in which McCree and Hanzo find comfort in each other while uncovering the dark secrets of a small national reserve.)





	1. Chapter 1

McCree trudged through thick underbrush, cursing under his breath as thorns pricked against his bare arm. Looks like he’d be putting his first aid kit to good use already. He paused to squint deeply at his compass, then at his crumpled map. The only marked path was a single red line drawn from the drop off point to his lookout tower. He wiped away the sweat on his forehead, tucked his map away, and continued hiking up.

 

Less than two miles left to go.

 

(He thought of Venice with Reyes, who had slapped the back of McCree’s head playfully for complaining about the humidity. Said that McCree needed to learn to suck it up; he couldn’t just play around in the hot desert forever.

But here he stood in a national reserve in the fire season. Nice and dry, just like back home in Santa Fe.

Not like Gibraltar.)

 

The sun had already started setting, something that McCree was more than appreciative for even if the heat still lingered in the burnt orange sky. It was beautiful; McCree would give it that much. Towering pine trees carved out the winding dirt path up the grassy hill; crickets chirped their songs and long stalks of purple and yellow flowers swayed in the breeze. He suspected that within the hour, the moon would be more visible, too.

 

The full moon had just started waning.

 

The sky was a deep violet by the time all the foliage had cleared out to make room for the wooden lookout tower posted in the center of McCree’s map. He looked up from his map to see the tall, rickety structure with his own eyes. The paint was peeling along the stairs and spare wooden planks were scattered around the base. An outhouse stood only a few feet away.

 

Home sweet home. For the next three months, at least.

 

The four flights of stairs winding around the tower made McCree suddenly aware of the ache in his thigh muscles, but he just clenched his jaw, let out a resigned sigh, and trekked his way up.

 

He made haste to unlock his door and throw his heavy backpack in front of the door, rolling out his shoulders and relishing in the resulting pops. McCree took in the square shaped room: a sturdy oak wood chair and desk sat in front of the north facing window, a small cot was across the room from the desk, exactly three boxes of McCree’s possessions (clothes, Peacekeeper wrapped in bedsheets, a framed photo of him and Reyes) were tucked in front of the kitchenette, and in the center stood a table with a circular map mounted solidly in it.

 

McCree startled when the walkie talkie charging on his desk crackled to life.

 

“Hello,” a lightly accented, but clear, voice called out. “Jesse McCree, please call in if you have arrived.”

 

McCree briefly fumbled with the comm and searched for the correct button. He knew he found it when a satisfying hum of static rang out.

 

“Yes, ma’am, McCree reporting.”

 

“Ah! There you are! I have been calling in for you. I am Ana Amari, your boss for this fire season. I can be found in Shrike Tower. It is a good deal north of you, but it’s unlikely that you will ever need to come up here. I hope that finding your way to Deadeye Tower was not too painful.”

 

McCree stretched out his legs, leaning back as best he could in the uncomfortable wooden chair. “My apologies, Ms. Amari, I just now got here. Pleasure to meet ya. It was a long walk, but a mighty fine one, with the scenery and all.”

 

Amari chuckled and gave him a rundown of the area. Supply caches were scattered through his section of the reserve (the password, 1-2-3-4, was picked by her daughter when she was 9 years old), the object in the center of his room was an Osborne Firefinder, and the next closest human was an environmental scientist, not a lookout, named Mei who lived a few miles west. She wished him a good night and suggested that he hike around his lookout within the next week to improve his navigating skills once he had rested up.

 

He clicked the walkie talkie back into its charger. McCree pulled off his clothes, opting to sleep in boxer briefs rather than search for pajamas in his packed boxes, and slumped into the hard cot. He tossed the scratchy sheets to the foot of the bed knowing that they would only make him sweat even more. No reason to create more dirty laundry if he didn’t need to.

 

 

(It reminded McCree of the military cot he was issued when he first joined Blackwatch; the mattress was far too thin and firm to be comfortable, but his exhaustion-addled state made it feel like a bed fit for a king.

 

But McCree was 30 now, not 18, and he knew his back would beg to differ by the morning.)

 

 

McCree fell asleep faster than he had in years.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke again, it was to the soft chirping of crickets outside and pink light flooding over the white wood of his tower room. He grabbed his watch off his bedside table, knocking over an empty cup in the process. The bright red glow read 5:47. McCree closed his eyes again in an effort to get back to sleep, but his bladder insisted despite his meager three hours of sleep. He sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and pulled on a shirt to make his way down to the outhouse. As soon as he opened the door, though, he stopped.

 

The sun was still out.

 

He slept for fifteen hours straight.

 

McCree groaned and turned back into the tower, not sure of what to do with the few remaining light hours. He winced when he sniffed the air. Better put that solar shower bag to use before doing anything else.

 

After a quick scrub down that made him feel more human, McCree pored through his map to find some nearby landmark to hike to, and he eventually decided on Aspen Lake only a quarter mile away. He managed to find the lake fairly easily by heading straight east from the tower since the trail leading to it was well travelled. McCree smiled wryly; it seemed that many of the lookouts before him had the same idea of taking a dip.

 

Pink flowers dotted the overgrown grass around the river, and the towering cliffs of rock and coniferous trees nearly imitated a sense of privacy. McCree strolled lazily around the barely tinted water to find a good place to drop in, but froze when he saw a figure tip its head above the water. Muscular arms raised above an equally toned back to run fingers through long, silky white hair. An intricate yellow tattoo swirled through the man’s left arm; his skin and tattoo seemed to glow in the golden light of the summer evening.

 

McCree knew he should reprimand him for swimming in the lake, despite his previous intentions to do the exact same thing, but the man carried himself with such dignity and confidence that McCree felt like _he_ was in the wrong to interrupt him. Still, a job was a job. He walked towards the man and-

 

The man whipped his head around to face McCree with the prettiest glare he had _ever_ seen (though McCree was distantly reminded of the appearance of an angry wet cat), but his eyes glowed the same golden color as his tattoo.

 

McCree didn’t think light could reflect like _that._

 

His eyes pierced into McCree’s, rooting him to his spot on the damp grass. The other man dived deep into the water. McCree gaped, watching the shadow in the water move rapidly to the other side of the lake, only leaving ripples behind.

 

“You’re not in serious trouble!” McCree shouted after him after the man vaulted over a rock on the edge of the lake and onto the grass. “Hey! Just-”

 

The man sprinted off into the distance, completely nude. There wasn’t even a pile of clothes or a bag anywhere in sight. McCree wanted to appreciate his physique, but was so disoriented that he couldn’t even manage that. He just scratched his thick sideburns and headed back to his tower in a daze.

 

The uncomfortable bed offered no comfort that night, and neither did the loud cries of wolves from outside his lookout shelter. The entire night had been too bizarre. Who was that man? Why had his eyes looked like that? Were wolves even supposed to live here?

 

It wasn’t that late, so he opted to call Amari on his comm, ignoring the nagging voice in his head calling him childish for being so needy. Her voice crackled into voice immediately after.

 

“Oh, McCree? Is there an issue?”

 

(Reyes would’ve been a real hardass about it at first; would’ve asked what McCree was doing, acting so spooked just because of one handsome man.

 

Then he would’ve teased McCree for being so predictable in his type: intimidating and mysterious.

 

And then he would’ve told McCree to trust his gut. To hold onto his suspicion and watch his back.)

 

“Yeah, uh, I saw a fella takin’ a splash in Aspen Lake. I tried to tell him to get out, but he ran off real fast as soon as he saw me.” He chose to omit the details about his glowing eyes and seemingly inhuman escape speed.

 

Amari’s smile could be heard through her walkie talkie as she replied, “Oh, don’t worry. As long as he leaves and is afraid to come back, you’ve done your job well enough.”

 

McCree chuckled and hope Amari couldn’t hear the nervousness in it. She read the situation completely incorrectly; McCree was scared of _him_. “And, one more thing. Are wolves supposed to be around here?”

 

She laughed good naturedly, “No, dear, don’t worry about any wolves. Coyotes, maybe, but not wolves. Is that all, McCree?”

 

“Sure is. Thank you kindly, Ms. Amari. Sleep tight.”

 

“You too, dear. And please, call me Ana.”

 

McCree felt marginally better after the conversation, but he knew that the howling wasn’t a coyote; it was far too deep and mourning to be mistaken for the sharp, piercing howl of a coyote. He laid down uneasily and wished for sleep that didn’t come.

 

* * *

 

McCree managed to shove the memory aside by filling his days with writing and hiking and photography. And occasionally watching out for fires.

 

Normally watching for fires was uneventful, but today a gray column of smoke pierced through the yellow morning sky. McCree called Ana through his comm; the elder woman sighed and sounded more disappointed than angry about inconsiderate tourists setting campfires. She asked McCree to go check it out and make sure it wasn’t actually a forest fire.

 

He happily obliged; all this sitting around had him going stir crazy.

 

McCree was grateful that he found a better, more personalized and marked up map in one of the supply caches on an earlier hike, because it gave him an actual path to follow. It took him through a relatively simple downhill path to the west with only rocks to decorate the vast swathes of wild grass. The thick morning mist had McCree shivering and almost wishing he hadn’t complained so much about the heat, but he kept on moving to warm himself up.

 

He slowed to a stop when he heard faint rustling ahead of him. He moved carefully, quietly, to scope out what it was; its footsteps were pretty light, so he didn’t think it was an animal of prey, but he wanted to make sure first.

 

Then, a man came into view.

 

A very familiar man. Fully clothed, McCree noted, taking in the cream colored jinbei that fluttered ever so slightly in harmony with the leaves hanging above him. He approached McCree with a poised gait and head lifted high, providing him with a clear view of his face.

 

(And boy, McCree thought to himself, what a _face_ he had.)

 

The man was undoubtedly the same one from a few nights ago: the silky white hair, in a high ponytail now, and sharp features of his face were hard to mistake. But his eyes were a soft, dark brown now, and though he wasn’t smiling at McCree, his face wasn’t twisted into a growl, either. An improvement, at least.

 

“Oh, hey, ain’t you that fella from the lake?” McCree asked in the most casual voice he could muster. Had he been imagining the glowing eyes?

 

The man raised a brow. “Yes, that would be me. I apologize for my… departure after our last meeting.”

 

He offered no explanation.

 

McCree just shrugged with one shoulder. “Don’t worry a thing about it. As long as you don’t do it again, it’s fine.” The man tilted his head down, his long hair nearly obscuring the amused crinkle of his eyes from McCree’s view, as if he was privy to some knowledge that McCree was not. McCree wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

 

“Right. I’m the fire lookout ‘round these parts. The name’s Jesse McCree.”

 

“Hanzo.”

 

No last name, either.

 

McCree sat down on a rock next to Hanzo, legs dangling off the edge of a ten foot drop, and pulled out a protein bar. “What brings you to these parts, Hanzo?”

 

“Would it not be a better question to ask why _you_ are working out here?”

 

McCree knew a man avoiding the question when he saw it, and Hanzo wasn’t even trying to be subtle. He chuckled and swallowed a mouthful before responding, “Just saw an ad for it and decided why the hell not.”

 

“You have sudden urges to live in near total isolation for months at a time?”

 

“Hit the nail on the head, partner. Now lemme guess. You’re out here ‘cause…” McCree peered at Hanzo’s straight face. “You got three ex wives coming after you, and this is the best place you could think of to hide to.”

 

Hanzo barked out a sharp laugh, “Women are not quite to my liking.”

 

McCree raised his brows. There’s one thing they had in common. Then Hanzo spoke up again.

 

“I am a guardian spirit of this land.”

 

McCree looked at Hanzo with bewilderment, expecting a joke, but his face as serious as always.  “Uh, what now?”

 

“I care for the earth and water of this land. I am not actually a human.”

 

McCree tried his damn best to look disappointed in Hanzo for trying to mess with him like that, but he had, quite frankly, seen stranger things in his life. Particularly every full moon. And maybe this meant he _didn’t_ imagine Hanzo’s eyes glowing. But he still held onto his skepticism.

 

“Uh huh. Prove it, hotshot.”

 

“Very well. But first, pull your legs off that edge. I would not like to retrieve your corpse if you fall from shock.”

 

McCree snorted but obediently pulled up his legs and gestured grandly to the small patch of grass circled by the large stones they sat on. Hanzo stood in the center and shrugged off his clothes. McCree flustered briefly - Was this guy a hermit nudist? - but Hanzo held up a single hand as he tugged his top off.

 

“My clothes will rip,” He said ominously, and McCree waited.

 

A cloud of glowing dust thick enough to feel, like a nebula in all of its swirling colors, consumed Hanzo from his feet up and compressed his form. McCree was reminded of a phoenix rising from ash as the light faded away and left an animal’s silhouette in its place.

 

Where Hanzo had once stood, a wolf now towered up past McCree’s waist with thick white fur and yellow markings, the same as Hanzo’s tattoo, running down its back. His snout was jutted up smugly as if _asking_ McCree to say he was lying again. His eyelids slid open languidly to reveal golden eyes and slit pupils that bored into McCree’s.

 

At least now McCree knew why he was butt naked last week.

 

Still, it raised more questions than it settled, so McCree asked the first one.

 

“You a werewolf?”

 

 _“Is it a full moon, ranger?”_ A voice asked sarcastically. But it wasn’t McCree’s voice, and the wolf didn’t make even the slightest move of his muzzle. He only shook his head in the negative.

 

“What? Did you just now say something?”

 

The wolf, _Hanzo,_ tilted his head in confusion.

 

The voice spoke again. “ _Odd. It normally takes longer for humans to start hearing things out here. His spirit seemed stronger than that.”_

 

“Hey, I ain’t lost my marbles just yet,” McCree protested. Then he looked around hesitantly, because how _was_ he hearing this voice? Hanzo stared at him blankly, and then blinked with a sudden epiphany.

 

“ _You can hear me_.”

 

McCree nodded, eyes fixated upon Hanzo’s unmoving snout.

 

“ _I have never encountered such a situation. What a strange turn of events... Though not unappreciated. It is easier to communicate this way as opposed to barking mindlessly at you.”_

 

McCree had an inkling to why this was possible, his lycanthropy didn’t exactly make him an ordinary man, but decided it wasn’t safe to say it to a complete stranger, guardian spirit or not. So he just pushed himself off the ground and brushed off his pants.

 

“Well, Mr. Hanzo, you’re welcome to join me in following that fire out there for my boss.” McCree tipped his hat to shield his eyes from the beaming sun. “Hell, you’d probably find it faster than I can with this here map, being a guardian and all.”

 

_“Of course I can.”_

 

McCree let Hanzo lead the way; the large wolf was obviously much better acquainted with the land. He marked up his map along the way, and Hanzo thankfully didn’t seem to mind the frequents break too much, using the downtime to lick at his paws and shake twigs out of his fur. McCree smiled absentmindedly at how doglike he was. He was snapped out of his daze by Hanzo suddenly sprinting forward.

 

“ _A campfire.”_

 

McCree jogged to where Hanzo stood, and true to his word, there was a circle of stones surrounding a dying ember of flames. No people, though. He chewed the inside of his cheek and pulled out his comm.

 

“Hey, Ana,” he said into the walkie talkie, “so it was just a campfire like you suspected, but whoever set it up got outta here before we could see who it was.”

 

“They didn’t just run off in fear again?” She said teasingly. Hanzo barked, literally, with laughter. McCree glared at Hanzo who now lounged lazily by the dead fire.

 

“Is that a coyote I hear, McCree? It sounds quite close by. Keep an eye out. Stomp out the fire and head home soon. Oh, and set up your rainwater harvesting tank. There may be a storm soon.”

 

He squinted up at the sky; it was bright as hell, pure white with all the clouds blocking out the fading sunlight, but he could tell that was going to change soon.

 

“Will do, ma’am. You take care now.”

 

Hanzo, it seemed, was content to laze on the grass with his head tucked between his paws. McCree nearly felt bad interrupting his silent reverie.

 

“You wanna grab your clothes outta my pack now?”

 

Hanzo stood up and walked silently and gently tugged at the pack with his teeth, so McCree took that as affirmation and set his clothes down on a on a log. Hanzo shifted into human form instantly and began dressing himself.

 

“Well, I’ll head out now, I’ll see you-”

 

“No,” Hanzo said as he fixed his clothes into place, “I will show you the scenic path back. It has been long since I have had any intelligent conversation.”

 

(McCree didn’t mention that Ana had just told him to hurry home and found himself trailing behind Hanzo once again on narrow trails. He told himself it was because of Hanzo’s authoritative tone, but he knew it was because he understood.

 

It had been a while for him, too.)

 

Hanzo didn’t lie, though; it sure was beautiful. Sand was kicked up into pink plumes of dust that floated lazily around the bottom of the trees surrounding their dirt path. Fireflies twinkled alongside the patches of evening light that made it through the clouds and trees.

 

When the rain started trickling down and thunder roared in the darkening sky, they made their way through a narrow valley with a small creek nestled between the mountains on either side. The rocks tilted inwards and offered some shelter from the rain that was rapidly building into a downpour. Hanzo rolled up his pants and held his zori sandals in one hand as he kicked through the shallowest part of the water.

 

Like a kid splashing in puddles, except this kid was a fully grown man with a dangerous amount of muscle on his body. McCree shook his head fondly.

 

“I prefer using my human form for these things,” Hanzo explained, gesturing to the water. “Skin dries faster than fur.”

 

“I hear ya, but is it really safe to be in the water like that?”

 

Hanzo hummed. “I am favored by lightning and thunder. I do not worry. You should be the concerned one.”

 

“Nah, I’ve been struck by lightning before when I was a kid. Don’t happen to the same man twice.”

 

“There was a lookout here, many years before you. He was struck by lightning seven times, twice in the very same summer here.”

 

McCree looked at Hanzo with alarm. Hanzo was staring at him intensely, but quirked a small smile upon seeing McCree’s expression.

 

“Oh, c’mon, Hanzo-”

 

“It is the truth. Though, if it provides any comfort, that was not what took his life.”

 

McCree waited only a moment before asking, “Well? What did? Don’t leave me in suspense for too long.”

 

“Ah,” Hanzo said with false innocence, his smile full of dark humor. “His wife murdered him in his sleep.”

 

“Well. Goddamn.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

They walked in comfortable silence. McCree grimaced when they left the valley and had to face the rain head on, but didn’t complain an ounce for the entire walk down to familiar territory. Then Hanzo turned to face him at the fork in the path they had encountered each other at earlier in the day. McCree was in awe at how handsome he managed to look with water dripping off his high cheekbones and the moonlight playing in his shadowy eyes. He looked as otherworldly as he said he was.

 

“I will depart here. I trust you can find your way back without my guidance?”

 

McCree laughed. “Sure, I ain’t _that_ much of a damsel in distress.”

 

Hanzo nodded, and turned to his respective path. He didn’t stay on the path for very long, McCree noted as he watched him leave, and strayed off into the forested hills. Once Hanzo’s silhouette had faded into the woods, McCree made his way to Deadeye Tower, gazing up at the stars on the way. He set up the water tank that was installed next to the outhouse and headed up the stairs to his post. He frowned when he found bits of shattered glass on the steps and quickened his pace, a cold feeling quickly sinking in his gut.

 

The tower was completely trashed.

 

The window closest to the door was shattered; it looked like the vandal had broken the window to unlock the door from outside. His sheets were missing entirely, the photo of him and Reyes was tossed carelessly to the side of his desk, some food supplies had been taken out, and even his _journal_ was flipped open to the most recent entry.

 

(It happened on one of those days where Jesse could feel every other day blending into each other like the melted wax at the bottom of one of his Ma’s prayer candles; every day was the exact same, meaningless shit. Go in, shoot, and get out. He wondered if anything was any different. If he still wasn’t a villain, just dressed in a different costume with a fancy Blackwatch logo and a pay raise.

 

“Keep a journal,” Reyes had said to him.

 

“What?” McCree snapped back. “I ain’t keeping some diary. Look, I still shoot just fine, and the - all them prescriptions and appointments are helping, most of the time.”

 

Reyes shrugged indifferently.

 

But the facade cracked, and he rubbed his face tiredly. He leaned back in his chair the way did when he was tired to his core.

 

He said, “Look, Jess, this isn’t about missions. I _know_ you shoot fine, otherwise I would’ve left you in that busted up dropship in the Congo. This is about _you._ It’s not a miracle cure, but it’ll help. Don’t be a dumbass just because you’re stubborn. Take care of yourself.”

 

McCree was silent. His voice was more wet than he liked when he responded, “Still stupid as hell.”

 

But he bought one, a plain brown leather journal, and he gave it to Reyes when it was all filled out. Told him to never read a damn word. And then he bought another.)

 

McCree slammed the journal shut and tossed it back into the desk drawer where it belonged. He rummaged through brown packing boxes until he found his familiar red serape. It would have to do as a makeshift bed sheet.

 

He was dripping water all over the floor like a wet dog, but he didn’t even care. He radioed Ana who was graciously tolerant of his snappy attitude. Her assurances that the situation would be looked into didn’t soothe McCree’s irritation. He tossed and turned in his bed, eventually facing the open window where a gust of wind blew on his hot body. At least the tower roof tiling didn’t allow much rainwater to drip inside through the shattered window.

 

He drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep, wondering if Hanzo had any idea what could have caused all this.

 

So much for a summer away from trouble.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is based off of the game firewatch, but will not be following it to a T; there are some plot diversions! comments/kudos always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

It took longer than McCree liked for Ana to update him on the situation, and when she did, he didn’t like what he heard. She admitted with greatly empathetic frustration that even after asking around, she had no idea who broke into McCree’s tower, and no other lookouts experienced anything remotely like that. McCree assured her he could patch the place up himself, no worries, and clicked the comm back into its charger. He had already finished unpacking both his personal boxes and the work safety boxes provided by his employers.

 

He had but one more productive task left to distract him from gnawing boredom, one that he had put off in favor of _not_ having to deal with the sun’s merciless beam in the cloudless sky. But this tower wasn’t going to patch itself up.

 

McCree pulled down his hat and grabbed a hammer, some nails, and wood planks. His steady hammering sent a few small animals scampering away, but he was more busy trying to not get more wood chips stuck in his threadbare gloves.

 

“ _Ranger. What are you doing?_ ”

 

McCree flinched, barely avoiding a painful experience involving his hand and the hammer, as the familiar voice echoed in his mind. He wiped the sweat off his brow and squinted around at the horizon. Even from the high vantage point of his watchtower, he couldn’t catch any sight of Hanzo.

 

Nothing but trees and blue skies.

 

He opened his mouth to speak, but realized Hanzo was nowhere nearby and wouldn’t be able to hear his response. “Uh… How do I respond..?” McCree tried anyway, feeling oddly embarrassed to be speaking to himself.

 

“ _I can hear you.”_

 

McCree frowned at that. “Everything?” His thoughts weren’t exactly something he’d be thrilled to have shared to a stranger, even if said stranger was handsomer than the devil with a mean sense of humor to match. Besides, having Hanzo speak to him telepathically was weird enough as is.

 

“ _I am not certain, but I believe it is only if you are addressing me. If I can hear all your thoughts, your mind is even more empty than I had once thought._ ”

 

“Well, shucks, glad to know you think I’m real smart.” McCree continued hammering away while speaking to the air. “There was a bit of trouble in paradise. Someone broke into my tower, and now I gotta fix it up.”

 

Hanzo was silent for a while, and McCree nearly forgot about the brief conversation until he said, “ _That is certainly abnormal. I have not felt nor seen any new presences enter the area.”_

 

McCree began sweeping up extra glass shards. “Huh. Reckon that must mean whoever did it’s been camping out here for a few days, at least. Ana, my boss here, she checked the registration sheets and only found three people who’ve signed in here recently. Guess that narrows down our suspect list.”

 

Hanzo hummed curiously and was quiet once again.

 

McCree leaned back against a railing and admired his handiwork; the oak panels stood in stark contrast to the white paint, but it somehow fit right in with the barebones look of the tower. He nodded approvingly and pulled out a cherry flavored sucker - _absolutely no cigars here,_ he recalled Ana’s stern voice - and sucked on it thoughtfully.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo yelled.

 

Yelled. McCree squinted. The tone of his voice carried no urgency despite its volume, so why was he yelling? It didn’t give him the chills like usual, but-

 

Oh.

 

McCree swerved on his heel and leaned over the railings to look down. A frowning face was looking up at him from four flights of stairs below.

 

“How’d you- nevermind. Lemme close up.”

 

McCree propped the broom up against his door frame and bounded a few steps down before recalling the orange set of walkie talkies he found in the emergency box. It might’ve been a _bit_ of a breach of protocol to give away extra supplies, but McCree couldn’t seem to get used to having a man, spirit, wolf, _whatever_ , talk in his head all day, no matter how much he enjoyed the company. He rummaged through a cabinet and let out a soft _a-ha!_ at the full charge on the batteries. McCree made his way down the rickety steps, boots thumping steadily until he reached Hanzo who tilted his head ever so slightly in curiosity at the lookout’s proud grin.

 

“You look quite pleased for a man who had his home ransacked.”

 

McCree snorted. “Ain’t too sure I’d call this my home, but that ain’t why I’m smiling. Look here,” he said, holding up the neon orange comms in both his hands, giving them a demonstrative little shake. “I got you a walkie talkie so you don’t gotta do your telepathic shit.” He extended one out to Hanzo, who took it gingerly and turned it in his hands, observing all the angles and machinery. McCree suddenly hoped that Hanzo knew how to use a walkie talkie. Did spirits use technology often?

 

“Very well.” Hanzo experimentally pressed a button on the side and a familiar click of static rang from both men’s devices. He held it up to his mouth with a moment of hesitation. He wrinkled his nose and cleared his throat; there was nothing to say into the comm as McCree was standing right in front of him, but he already put himself in the position to test anyway.

 

“T-testing?”

 

The word came out through McCree’s comm clearly, but he couldn’t help but laugh at Hanzo’s awkward experiment with the walkie talkie. Hanzo protested, regal nose tilted upwards as if the pinkish flush wasn’t so obviously dusted upon his cheeks.

 

McCree let the last of his laughter die down, and he might’ve spotted a quirk of the lips on Hanzo’s upturned face, too. “What did you come down here for, anyway?”

 

Hanzo’s face turned more solemn, like he had forgotten his original purpose in the midst of his embarrassment. “Your tower. I need to inspect it to see if the perpetrator has left any evidence of their identity.”

 

McCree leaned against a tower support pole and into the shade. He shook his head. “A lil’ late for that, as you can see. I already cleaned her all up. I gotta sleep in there, you know? Can’t have it looking like a crime scene.” A playful smirk played on his lips. “Didn’t know you cared about lil’ ol’ me so much.”

 

Hanzo didn’t smile; his eyes flashed warningly. “You simply _ignored_ it? And, like a fool, threw out any chance of finding out who did it? This is _my_ territory, do not forget that, lookout. It is within my powers to detect who was here so long as there are still some traces.”

 

“Well, sorry for you, that ship has already sailed. Don’t need a babysitter, trust me. I can take care of myself.”

 

“Clearly,” Hanzo scoffed. “This is what happens when they allow children to play in my woods. I cannot allow your ignorance to allow chaos to run free here.”

 

McCree bristled and drew his brows together in a glare; he took a step forward into Hanzo’s space, the sun playing sharp shadows across his face and good naturedness forgotten in his temper as he spat the words out, “Listen, you can joke around, but you better get it in there that I ain’t stupid. I’ve been around. I know damn well how to inspect a scene, and I can tell you whoever did it didn’t leave any traces.”

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes - those pretty, mean, golden eyes. He turned on his heel, hair following in a sweeping motion, and muttered something in angry Japanese as he walked away. McCree resisted the urge to shout after him and clenched his jaw, the cheap, cloying flavor of cherry shattering across his tongue. His boots were much louder on the steps when he went up them.

 

* * *

 

 

A walkie talkie crackled to life.

 

“What do you wear when you are not forced to wear the… distasteful khaki shorts and shirt?” Hanzo’s voice queried. All his previous condescension and sneering were absent from his voice, his usual neutral tone replacing it.

 

Forgive and forget, McCree supposed. He wasn’t that much better at swallowing his pride, so he figured he couldn’t criticize Hanzo _too_ much. At least he was using the walkie talkie like McCree had asked.

 

McCree kicked his legs out onto his desk and leaned back. “Well ain’t you a curious thing? I guess just some jeans and a button up. Usually got a serape and the same hat as now.”

 

An incredulous silence, and then Hanzo asked, “A button up?”

 

McCree couldn’t help but chuckle. “What? I can’t get dolled up? You got me though. It’s usually just a plain ol’ button up or a flannel.”

 

Hanzo grunted - maybe that was a laugh - and it went silent. McCree usually wouldn’t push a conversation; Hanzo was the quiet type, and McCree could appreciate a comfortable silence despite his affinity for charming small talk. But, he couldn’t help his curiosity. He raised the comm back to his mouth.

 

“Why’d you ask?”

 

“I am drawing,” Hanzo responded immediately as if he had anticipated the question and prepared his answer.

 

“Yeah? You do that for all your lookouts?” McCree only realized his low, flirtatious drawl after the words left his lips.

 

Hanzo didn’t seem to notice or just opted to gracefully ignore it. “No, I typically only draw wildlife or environments. Perhaps it is your brutish appearance that has inspired me to return to human portraits. Now, if you would excuse me.”

 

McCree sputtered into his comm as the line clicked into silence. A disbelieving smile crept upon his face. “At least make me pretty!”

 

The receiver remained silent. Damn nature spirits.

 

* * *

 

 

Ana’s voice startled him awake at 4 A.M. in the morning.

 

“McCree, there is a call for you.”

 

McCree groaned, scrubbed his face with one hand, and kicked the sheets away.

 

“Coming, coming,” he said gruffly, even if Ana couldn’t hear him until he grabbed his own walkie talkie. He cleared the sleep out of his throat and pressed down on the button.

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“Ah, good, you’re awake. I hate to interrupt your sleep, but there is a call for you from Gabriel Reyes. I’ll connect you now.”

 

McCree heaved out a weary breath and headed to the stained coffee pot on the kitchenette facing the north side of his tower room; there was no way he could take that call without any caffeine this soon after waking up. It was still quiet outside, birds sleeping soundly, so the only sound were the beeps and whirrs of his radio connecting to a phone. There wasn’t a lick of sunshine, either. Just the moon and the stars and Jesse McCree.

 

“Jesse?”

 

A sharp pain shot through McCree’s chest at the familiar voice. He took a seat on his bed, nursing his coffee in one hand and the comm in the other. “Yeah, hey Boss. How’ve you been doing with Jackie?”

 

Reyes laughed loudly. “He’d kill you if he heard you saying that. Keep it up. And I’m hardly your boss at this point with my brain half rotten to hell. But, hey, you think I can still throw together a shitty attack plan?”

 

(Though he was practically McCree’s father, it was impossible to wring any sort of emotions out of Reyes when he didn’t want it to happen. And McCree unwillingly felt himself more comfortable with that idea; he didn’t _want_ to talk about how numbered his days with Reyes were.

 

And what a family they made. A kid from a shitty desert gang and a world renowned peace organization commander. A fire outlook running from his problems and an old man plagued by paranoia, hanging onto all the problems that he could still recall.

 

McCree wondered if Reyes still remembered the day he dragged him out of ash and gunpowder back in Deadlock, and, for once, he hoped someone wouldn’t forget his blood stained past.)

 

“Says the guy who shot Antonio out of a window in Venice. Yeah, I’d say shitty’s the best description of _any_ of your attack plans.”

 

“Pfft, none of us died! I’d say it was just fine. Besides, I did a damn good job over in Kings Row! Even the UN bastards complimented me for that one.”

 

“Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”

 

“Shut up, kid.”

 

McCree eventually drifted off with the walkie talkie in his hand and unfinished coffee on the end table, and he might’ve heard a staticky, “Love you, Jesse,” as he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

He was swiping a thick layer of peanut butter on a stale graham cracker when Ana called in about a communication line that went down. He agreed to go hike up and see where the line is cut at - it’s not like he _can_ say no - and stuffed a few protein bars and canteens into his pack. McCree licked his fingers clean of crumbs and peanut butter and shouldered the door open.

 

McCree stamped through still damp grass, feeling the chill of morning fog breathe over his bare forearms and beads of dew gently burst against his ankles. Every breath of of the blushing rose pink morning air was crisp and delicate.

 

The forested terrain near his tower was blessed with shade and cool streams, but venturing farther out meant dehydrated summer foothills. McCree trekked up and up, climbing up rocky umber heights that cast teal shadows across sandy edges as the sun climbed up the sky.

 

The wisps of cold humidity evaporated under the beaming heat. He wiped his brow and pulled down his hat; he had hardly noticed it was already noon. From his high vantage point, McCree could spot the black communication wires streaking through the skyline, but none appeared damaged.

 

He squatted down to sit on the edge of a rocky crevice to take a break. The wires weren’t going anywhere, and his mouth was dry with the kicked up dust. He grabbed a cold water bottle and, after a moment of mental debate, dug through for the orange walkie talkie. His tentative friendship with the forest spirit was growing stronger over the two or three weeks that they spent occasionally sharing quips about the forest and making lighthearted jabs at each other. McCree was privately delighted that Hanzo seemed to ring in first just as much as he did.

 

“Hey, Hanzo. Where d’you live, anyway? Never seen any buildings here other than my tower.”

 

He waited a moment, taking a deep swig of water kept cold in the insulated metal of his bottle. Soon, the comm clicked alive.

 

“In a cave some miles away from your lookout tower.” Vague, evasive. “And you, ranger?”

 

“Hm? You know I live in the tower.” McCree laid back fully and tipped his hat over to shield his eyes from the sun. “Whaddya mean?”

 

“You said earlier that here is not your home. So where _is_ your home?”

 

McCree drummed his fingers against his thigh, wary of the topic of things like _home_ or _family_ . He took another heavy drink of water and swirled the liquid in the bottle, wishing he could turn water into whiskey. “Well, my mama raised me in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And then I left to live with my old man out in the middle of fuck all nowhere, still New Mexico. And _then_ I got into a mite of trouble and picked up by Reyes, and ever since then I’ve been all over the place.”

 

“I see. May I ask who Reyes is?”

 

McCree noted the gentleness of his question. Of course Hanzo would pick up on the falsified easiness of his voice. “Something like my dad, or at least more of my dad than the biological one was. He was my boss too, back when I ran with the government guns.” He paused. “He’s the reason I came out here.”

 

A steep drop leading to what appeared to be the entrance to a cave was a saving grace to the deafening silence between the two. McCree grabbed some rope from his bag and set off to securing one end to his belt and the other to a small wooden post firmly planted in the ground; he was no boy scout, but he knew a good knot or two from his time with Reyes.

 

“Found a cave,” he said as he tugged the rope taut with a pleased smile. “Maybe it’ll be yours.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have any tea sets for us to indulge in. My most sincere apologies, Mr. McCree.”

 

McCree tossed his head back with laughter at the unexpected humor. “You’re a real laugh a minute, you know that?”

 

He scaled down the side of the cliff, carefully testing his weight on the rocks each kick down and  jumping down the remaining few feet. He winced as a pang shot through his knees.

 

(McCree wasn’t as young as he used to be, he thought with some sadness. Time didn’t stop for anyone. Reyes used to always be rubbing at some untouchable ache in his back, legs, anywhere while McCree snickered at how much of an old man he was.

 

McCree wondered how old Hanzo was, and then wondered when his thoughts started turning to Hanzo instead of Reyes.

 

A welcome distraction, at least.)

 

While shaking out his stiff limbs, McCree noticed silky orange fabric tangled in a bush near the entrance of the cave. He squatted to carefully remove it from the bush without tearing it. The cloth was covered in dust and worn by the elements, but it looked expensive if the quality and intricate design were anything to judge by. It was probably lost by some careless hiker long gone now, so he stuffed it in a side pocket of his backpack for later.

 

McCree could feel the chill emanating from the cave before he even walked into it. He eagerly pulled out a flashlight to go farther into the downhill slope of the cave; not only was it a shortcut to the next communication pole, it also provided some needed relief from the outside heat, even if said relief smelled musty and damp. His footsteps echoed alongside the irregular _drip-drop_ of water from the cave ceiling.

 

He took pause upon seeing a glint of light, a reflection bouncing off his flashlight. McCree couldn’t afford to get himself lost here - there was no signal on his comm when he was in a valley _and_ a cave - but his gut urged him forward; something about glint of light seemed unnatural in this cave of dull stone.

 

He set his spare flashlight down at his spot as a beacon of light to redirect him and keep him from straying off too far. The path quickly lead to a chain metal fence with a padlock and sign reading, “DO NOT ENTER.” in bold red lettering.

 

He frowned. He was right about it being unnatural, but he was still puzzled. Ana never mentioned a restricted area; he would definitely have to ask about this after he got out of the cave. It was simple enough to return to the flashlight and then follow the splaying rays of sunshine at the exit of the cave and climb his way up and out.

 

“Hey there, Ana,” he asked over the generic grey comm as soon as the connection returned. “Got a question. Are there any restricted areas? I just went through this cave and it had a lil’ locked off area that I didn’t know about.”

 

The older woman sighed with some fond exasperation. “Ah, yes. Cave 501-B. We once had a key to that area, it gets a bit unstable in winter, you see, so we have to lock it then, but an old lookout somehow lost it.” She chuckled at the memory. “About 30 years ago, if my memory serves me correctly. Breaking the locks and getting a new one was never a priority for the park, so it remains locked.”

 

“You sure do get all sorts of stories out here, dontcha? Well, alrighty then. I guess that case is closed. Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

 

He stared out at the wide expanse of flat, sloped land; it was mostly dust, though rare patches of grass sprouted up where it could. The top of a distant communication tower brushed across the bright blue horizon, barely visible from his low vantage point, but it was clear that wires weren’t connected to it. He bemoaned the fact that he would have to trek up that much hill just to get full visual confirmation of the damage.

 

He grabbed the orange comm. “Ain’t it crazy how isolated this place is? I mean, I got a walkie talkie to you and my boss, Ana, but these flimsy wires are the only thing keeping even her connected to the world.”

 

“Is that not why you came here? Or perhaps I should say why _anyone_ comes here. For complete isolation whether it be from a person, a circumstance, or society at whole.”

 

Maybe it was the vastness big blue sky making him feel more vulnerable and small than a man his size ought to, or maybe it was the barely noticeable understanding that tinged Hanzo’s voice with a melancholic tone. But some distant chord seemed to strike at McCree’s lonely core.

 

“Can’t say you’re wrong. Reyes, the guy I was telling you about earlier. He, uh. He’s real sick now. Used to have the meanest punch you ever saw, but he could hardly hold himself up after a few years passed. Started forgetting things, too. It’s hard to see someone you care about like that, y’know?” McCree was aware he may have been rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words. He didn’t suppose the guardian spirit of a lonely corner of a nature reserve would have many people to babble off his secrets and weaknesses too, anyway. “I couldn’t handle seeing him like that, so I handed him off to his ex-spouse. And now here I am.”

 

“And here you are,” Hanzo echoed absently as he took a moment to organize his words, piecing them together like a puzzle carefully crafted in his mind. “I don’t think that escaping is always a sin. Perhaps… We all need to escape from some forces in life.”

 

McCree dipped his eyes down to the cracks in sunbaked sand and dirt. Hanzo sounded hesitant and unsure, as if his mind were somewhere far away but in the present all at once.

 

“Maybe,” McCree said, uneasy feelings of regret bubbling in his gut. “But I ain’t so sure if me being here is better or worse for _him_. Wondering if it’s selfish of me.”

 

Hanzo didn’t have a response to that, and McCree had nothing more to offer, so he walked in silence. The flat wide plains sharpened into an upward pointing cliff where the communication tower stood. It was obviously hacked off with a sharp end: some wire cutters, maybe even an axe, and looked an awful lot like a deliberate attack. McCree’s expression slowly dropped into a grimace.

 

(“Don’t make enemies you won’t be able to handle later on,” Reyes said to him while they crouched behind cover in a warehouse full of arms.

 

“I ain’t got any enemies, boss. Have you seen me? Southern charms and looking like a million bucks.”

 

“You look like you got beat with the ugly stick, that’s what.”)

 

He pulled out his walkie talkie to alert Ana. She swore under her breath, immediately linking the ripped wires to the forced entry into the tower just as McCree had. After promises of an incoming repair and a more close look at the suspects, she hesitantly hung up. The wind whistled in his ear.

 

McCree wondered what he would tell Hanzo and pulled the orange comm from its strap on his belt just as another breeze rustled a foreboding, blank sheet of paper by the base of the communications tower. It was held down by a few tediously placed round stones. He slowly, cautiously, dug it out and turned it over. It had one word printed on it in fine black ink:

 

LEAVE.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter title in google docs is "werewolves... romance... oh baby" so! hopefully we're ready for That. 
> 
> again, thank you so so much for reading, and all kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!


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